


The Chelsea Hotel

by UpAllNight



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Night Stands, One Shot, Prostitute!Harry, Prostitution, Romance, Savior!Louis, Smut, based on a Lana Del Rey song, my first attempt at smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:26:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpAllNight/pseuds/UpAllNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis sees a boy he knows from before the fame. A boy he met in the shabby bar of the Chelsea Motel in NYC one night. <br/>Harry sees his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chelsea Hotel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my challenge winner, Frappy, here is your Lana Del Rey inspired one-shot of Larry goodness!  
> Please forgive my shitty blowjob/handjob. I have honestly never had any personal experience with either of these or ever written them before, so...here you go! Have fun and enjoy. 
> 
> Please send me suggestions for new stories and ideas! My email address is available on my profile for prompts and suggestions!

The cameras were flashing as Louis walked down the red carpet. Fans stood lined up on either side, screaming and pushing against the metal barriers to touch him, hug him, take a picture with him, get an autograph. It was the one boy standing still who caught Louis's attention. He couldn’t see much past the security guards brawny torsos, but he recognized the boy instantly. He knew those long brown locks and those large, bright green eyes. He had looked down at them once, with blown-out pupils and fluttering eyelashes. He knew those lips, he knew how they tasted. Knew how they felt.

The glimpse of the boy was gone, smothered by the arms of his security personnel and the crushing crowd, but Louis clutched and held close the memories as he made his way into the talk show’s green groom. He wasn’t capable of focusing on the boy, instead psyching himself up for the interview he was about to give about his band’s upcoming album and their worldwide tour.

It wasn’t always worldwide tours, though. Once upon a time it was tiny venues and sweaty, drunken young people and him…

Not right now, Louis thinks, not right now.

The hostess, who Louis knows is American, gets the crowd excited. His mind closes in on this moment, now, and ignores all else. Louis and the boys, Liam,Niall, and Zayn, hear their cue and jog out of the green room, up the stairs, and into the brightly lit studio, waving to fans in the audience. He wasn’t there. But Louis wasn’t really expecting him to be there, because Louis knew he would be waiting outside, in the back. It was a simple fact that sat at the back of his brain through the show, nagging. As Louis teased Niall about a bad haircut and Liam joked about the bus’s sleeping conditions, Louis understood that the boy was waiting. It had been in his eyes. He knew the boy would be standing out back, probably leaning against the brick wall in a thin white t-shirt; even though it had been three long years since they’d last met. The one and only time they had met…

* * *

“We each get our own room!?” Niall practically screams, excited that for once he won’t have to sleep with Zayn. Zayn rolls his eyes.

“I’m not that horrible, mate,” he complains. Nial gives Zayn THE LOOK, which is a prompt signal to _shut the hell up, mate._

Zayn _shuts the hell up_ and the boys separate. They’re not even near each other, thrown all over the hotel on different floors or different ends of the hallway. Louis is stuck with a view of the busy, dirty New York City street. It’s not the nicest part of town, because they’re not all that famous yet, but it’s decent. He can admire the lights from the fourth floor, looking between the people in the street below and the lights off in the distance, forming the famous skyline.

The limousine Simon has rented for their gig was sitting just outside, their final few equipment bags being removed from the trunk and probably moved into the manager’s room. The bright pink _Chelsea Hotel_ sign reflects onto the shiny black sides of the limo. Louis shakes his head and decides that it's time for a drink. Just a beer, but at least some alcohol will help him loosen up after the long week of traveling and performing. He changes into a comfortable pair of skinnies and an AC/DC t-shirt before bouncing down the stairs to the sad excuse of a lounge. A discount version of a fancy bar, really.

Louis orders a beer and sits at the counter, sipping at it as he looks around. There aren’t very many people around since the night is still pretty young; too early for any real drinking or partying. There is a boy, though, leaning against the other side of the bar and nursing what appears to be a whisky, chatting with the female bartender. Louis senses no flirtatiousness between them. If anything, the beautiful boy looks businesslike and concentrated. That’s when he catches Louis staring and raises an eyebrow, slowly and deliberately, as if to ask _do you like what you see?_

Louis's gaze quickly returns to his beer, blushing and ashamed of his rude behavior. But the boy approaches him, taking the bar stool next to him and knocking their elbows together in a friendly manner. “Ello, I’m Harry. I caught you staring and I figured I’d come say hi. You look pretty decent,” Harry introduces.

“M’name’s Louis,” Louis smiles. “Nice to meet you, Harry. Sorry for staring. To be blunt, though, you’re very beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Harry nods, accepting this compliment for what Louis predicts to be the billionth time. No god-on-earth like Harry doesn’t receive this compliment a million times daily. Louis has made a proper fool of himself.

“I can make up my awkward staring by at least paying for your drink,” Louis suggests lamely, gazing over at Harry. Harry thinks Louis looks like a kicked puppy and immediately takes a shine to him.

“That’d be lovely,” Harry smirks. Louis's heart spirals out of control and ends up somewhere in Antarctica, it’s dropped so far out of his chest.

“So, uhm, yeah…” Louis takes a long pull of his beer and puts his face in his arm, embarrassed beyond all belief. He performs in front of hundreds of people, thousands on a weekly  basis, but he can’t even hold a decent conversation with Real Life Adonis. Louis is a sad excuse for a human being and he knows it. Harry puts his arm around Louis's shoulders and shakes him a bit.

“How about after we finish our drinks, we head back to your room and talk some more, out of the way of people,” Harry offers. Louis is trying very hard not to either drop to his knees and thank whatever god exists for his luck, or start doing a victory dance at his stool. He just nods and brings his flushed face out of the crook of his elbow. Harry pokes his nose with a wink, “You’re actually quite handsome yourself. Beautiful eyes, love, and a darling blush.”

“Th-Thanks,” Louis swallows convulsively. He finishes his beer in a matter of seconds and waits for Harry to finish daintily sipping at his whisky. It’s definitely whisky, Louis can smell it. When the drinks are paid for, Harry loops his arm around Louis's shoulders and leads him to the nearest elevator, pushing the UP button.

When the doors open, it’s empty, and Harry quickly pulls Louis inside. Louis presses the brightly lit “Four” button on the panel. Harry slams Louis against the wall of the elevator as soon as the doors close, pressing their lips together and grabbing at the shorter boy’s shirtfront. Louis grunts and pushes Harry away. “What the hell, mate!?” Louis cries.

“I’m, uhm, I thought you would like that,” Harry replies pitifully. Louis pushes his fringe out of his eyes and looks up at the taller boy.

“I would love to kiss you, you’re absolutely stunning, but I’m not sure what exactly you’re trying to pull,” Louis explains. Harry blushes, now, lowering his eyes.

"I figured you were interested," Harry mutters.

"I am! Definitely! I just thought we were going to talk first before anything happened," Louis chuckles breathily, trying to maintain his slipping composure. "Why so fast, anyway? Ants in your pants? Or...something more urgent?"

"No, it's not that," Harry says. His eyes have been tracing patterns in the threadbare hotel elevator carpet since Louis pushed him away.

"What's your deal, then?" Louis huffs. 

“I’m a prostitute,” Harry mumbles. “And I figured you’d be up for a round or two for cheap, since you’re so cute. And based on your compliments and the way you finished your drink so fast...I thought you wanted to hurry out of there and just get to it.”

“Oh.”

“I’m clean, I swear, I get tested every two weeks,” Harry puts forth. Louis's head is still spinning with all the new information Harry is giving him, and he makes his decision when the elevator reaches the fourth floor and opens with a small creak. Louis pulls Harry into his room by the upper arm and shoves him against the wall next to the door, kicking the door shut behind them. He has to stand almost on tip-toe to kiss the other boy, but he does it. He cranes his neck and places gentle kisses along Harry’s neck and jaw. Harry bites his lip, letting his head loll back against the wall with a dull thud. Nobody is ever gentle, not like Louis is being, and Harry yearns for it.

“I don’t want to have sex with you,” Louis says, pausing in his kisses. Harry looks absolutely fucked. His long, wavy hair is tousled and his pupils are a bit larger than they should be in this light. He’s breathing deeply, his sheer black shirt (Louis hadn’t noticed that before) is unbuttoned except for the last two, and his black skinny jeans hugged every curve and muscle like they've been painted on. Louis really does want to have sex with Harry, but at the same time, he can't bring himself to do it. Harry’s face falls.

“Then, I’m sorry, but I need to get back downstairs,” he sighs. “I can’t afford to spend tonight alone.”

“I wasn’t saying that I won’t pay you or do...stuff, I just don’t want to have sex,” Louis states. Harry glances up at him through long lashes and Louis has been impaled by so many feelings at once he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Harry's eyes could bring the sun up from the horizon, Louis is sure. So he kisses Harry again and drags him down onto the bed. Harry is leaning over Louis, who has his legs spread slightly to fit the taller boy between them. They’re resting pelvis to pelvis, Louis is half-hard and Harry is very hard from the kissing Louis was doing earlier.

“You look familiar,” Harry mumbles into Louis neck as he gently nibbles the sensitive skin.

“I’m in a band, One Direction, maybe you’ve heard of us?” Louis gasps, hands reaching for Harry’s torso and finding it. Harry nods as Louis fingers splay across his semi-toned chest. "We play around here pretty often."

“Good voices, you guys have,” Harry says. "Very British and lovely." He unbuttons the shorter boy’s black skinnies and Louis freezes, blue eyes wide.

“I said I didn’t want to have sex,” he says. Harry shrugs.

“So I can’t blow you?”

“That’s oral _sex_ , Harry,” Louis intones.

“I really want to, please?” Harry has never asked to suck a dick in his life. Never. Only pretended to for very particular clients, but he actually wants to please Louis. Wants to make him feel good and possess him for a moment. He wants all of Louis's attention, wants to control him, own him, belong to him.

Harry hasn’t felt this attracted to someone in a very long time, especially not in his line of work.

Louis bites his lip and nods. Only moments later his pants are lying puddled on the floor, his shirt as well. Harry’s shirt joins them, and Louis has his boxers removed before he can say another word. Harry is tugging him onto the bed, spreading his legs a bit. And then, oh god, Harry’s mouth. It’s wrapped around Louis’s dick and his tongue is _...good lord, oh Harry, please…_

Harry is amazing. He moves his mouth, sucking and humming and licking like he’s an Olympic dick-sucking gold medalist. Louis would put money on Harry’s winning if such an Olympic sport existed. His hands are holding Louis’s hips down, and the blue-eyed boy has his hands threaded through Harry’s soft, wavy locks, tugging now and again or smoothing them down encouragingly whenever Harry does something Louis particularly likes with his godforsaken mouth.

“Oh god Harry,” Louis moans. Harry’s eyes are on him, watching his every facial expression. For some reason that gets Louis even more excited and he twitches. Harry feels it, preparing for what he knows will happen very soon. “Harry!”

And Harry swallows like a good boy, licking the corner of his lip seductively as Louis watches with a pained expression. Louis flips them over, stretching Harry along the bed like a cat. Louis kisses and nips up and down the boy’s torso, leaving small love-marks behind. Harry doesn’t mind when Louis does it, he likes Louis and his sharp teeth and kind eyes.

Louis wraps a hand around Harry’s rather impressive cock and pumps once or twice, getting a feel for the way Harry likes it. He wipes precome from the tip and dampens the skin, providing for happy (but not uncomfortable) friction. Harry whines and moans dirty things at Louis, who skillfully jerks him off onto the mussed hotel bedspread and his own stomach.

They’re shy after, washing up next to each other in the tiny bathroom and leaving the soiled cloths on the floor. Harry glances at the bed, at his clothes, and then at Louis, wondering what happens next. “Jump into the bed, love,” Louis demands. Harry does as he’s told, curling up when Louis stretches his length behind him, wrapping a small arm around him. Harry hasn’t spooned a client ever. But Louis insists, holding Harry against his chest and humming a familiar tune until Harry is fast asleep.

Then Louis sneaks out of bed and leaves his number and five hundred dollars on the bedside table, knowing that when he wakes up, Harry will be gone.

* * *

But that was three years ago, and Louis shakes his head in acceptance when he slips out the studio’s back door to find Harry standing exactly how he expected him. Grey skinny jeans, a white t-shirt, and a flannel tied around his hips. His hair is even longer now, tied back into a small bun. Harry grins when he sees Louis and steps forward to accept the proffered hug. “Long time, no see. You never called or texted.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” Harry shrugs sheepishly. “But by the time I got one, your manager had changed your number I guess.”

Louis had completely forgotten about Simon and Modest! changing their numbers last year.

“How have you been doing?” Louis asks. Harry’s arms are covered in tattoos, and he can see the faint outline of one through the thin white shirt.

“I’ve gotten into tattoo artistry,” Harry smiles, “With the money you left.”

“I’m glad I could help…” Louis isn’t sure what the protocol is for this.

“I was wondering if you guys needed a stylist’s assistant or something,” Harry shrugs, acting all nonchalant and noncommittal. But Louis can see the aching worry in Harry’s eyes and smiles warmly.

“Welcome aboard,” Louis smiles.

It doesn’t last long. Harry gets caught singing while fixing some costume pieces and is forced into the limelight as a member of the band. Louis and Harry fall in love, of course, and spend as much time together as physically possible. They even start a charity to keep people out of Harry’s previous line of work. The record label likes that a lot, and sponsors them.

Louis doesn’t think of their encounter at The Chelsea Motel very often. He prefers living every day with his beautiful, shining Harry, who he loves with all his heart.

 

 


End file.
